Sixty-five-year-old Karen Hollander is an attorney with Type I diabetes, a heavyweight résumé and a Wikipedia entry. Her CV includes (but not limited to) author of four best-selling books, dean of a law school, a corporate lawyer in a powerful law firm, and U.S. Justice Department official. She’s divorced, with accomplished, brilliant children, and she’s devoted to her granddaughter, Waverly, a seventeen-year-old on her way to becoming a likeness of the achieving Karen (with some cute malapropisms that Karen corrects).
The book is told from Hollander’s narrative perspective, as a memoir, to gradually divulge a dangerous secret surrounding her activist activities in 1967, an undisclosed event that caused her to turn down a nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court. This secret, she feels, has emotionally crippled her (and likely the former friends involved). Andersen’s rugged skill and talent is displayed here, as he gradually develops a taut, thriller-type story that will keep you turning the pages, and echoes a past that surely is more passionate than its future.
If you enjoy stories about the 1960’s hippie/activist days, you will revel in the revolutionary spirit of the counterculture era--protests, sit-ins, intellectual debates--together with thought-provoking ideas that pad the story, but add to the theme and successfully loop into the narrative. Additionally, Karen’s 007-role-playing missions with her best friends, Alex and Chuck, define her pre-college years and add colorful background to the story. Their friendship was cemented during these risky and adventurous events that began in Wilmette, near Chicago, and peaked as Harvard freshmen. She now lives in LA.
Because of Andersen’s tight pacing and architecture, I was engaged in the story. But I was unconvinced with the incongruous voice of Karen. Hollander's résumé and leanings have all the makings of a Hillary Clinton (inside a size-6 body resembling a 45-ish Julie Christie). At Hollander's age and achievements, one would expect her memoir's tone to be serious, mature, and intellectually sober, and to reflect the weight of the story.
Instead, her narrative voice/tone is an octave too high and young and much too coy and chipper for her judicial years and leadership, not to mention the import of subject matter and this burdensome secret. Of all the voices for Andersen to imbue in Hollander, this contradictory one undermines the gravity of the story and the magnitude of her character. Try to imagine Clinton personifying a college freshman on a sleepover, terrified of spilling the awful travesty of Spring Break. No way! Yes, way! And Hollander periodically speaks in colloquialisms like "grok."
“Living here [in LA] makes me feel as if I’m always getting away with something. What I now clearly see—note to book clubs” [italicized]—“is a major theme of my life.”
The seminal incident of her life happened when Karen was 18, but she is telling it as a fully mature and accomplished woman. It is gnawing to hear her narrate a memoir in a teenaged tone, bright with a cavalier spirit that alternates with calculated contrition. Moreover, there’s too much authorial intrusion as apology—we are coaxed to acknowledge her self-blame, but her role as a martyr is too canny and deliberate.
Hollander’s past is part of the suspension of disbelief, but you are seduced to go along with it by an affecting, historic chronicle of heady 60’s activism. However, Hollander’s supernova status renders the rest of the characters pale and straw in comparison, as if they were set up primarily to prop up Karen’s immeasurable gifts. She hooks up with an ex-boyfriend, who she hasn’t actually seen in a decade, because he has the highest form of secret government clearance, “my friend the senior national security and intelligence-community apparatchik,” as she needs his acquisitive talents to provide secret documents to her. It was too fantastic to accept that he would so easily defy his coda to help her.
The author of the ripe and historical HEYDAY, a resonant novel of the 19th century with a credible female protagonist, is not as successful in drawing out a lead woman character in this second novel. It’s hard to be a true believer, but the tight plot and vivid walk down memory lane convinced me of its earnest desire, if not its plausibility. The wobbly credibility was eased by moments of sensitive introspection about a time that is now too often remembered with bumper sticker slogans and vintage fashion. The heart of the story—of a woman who dares to tell the truth in 2013, an era of avatars and fabrications, Facebook and Twitter--and risk her spotless professional legacy--managed to almost balance the false notes with an exuberant belief in itself.
Almost a 3.5
Thank you to Shelf Awareness for a copy from the publisher.